Bloody Harlan:  A Different Point of View
by AndItsOuttaHere
Summary: I wanted to explore the events in the season 2 finale from different points of view.  First, Winona.  Later, Art, Mags, Ava; maybe more.
1. Winona

_Snippets of dialogue in this and future chapters are taken directly from the show for clarity and belong to Graham Yost and Co. and NOT to me._

_I had an idea to look at the events in Bloody Harlan from different points of view…Winona, Ava, Boyd, maybe others….first…Winona._

_Winona intrigues me because everyone has an opinion about her, but we don't really know her, except through Raylan's eyes. I wondered what made Art change his mind about going to Harlan. _

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"You _have_ to help him! Art, please." Calm and pragmatic; Winona has never been one for hysterics, so she blinks back her tears and tries to reason with the man who seems the only hope of bringing Raylan back from this alive.

"Sometimes you just can't help." Art says; finality in his voice.

"I'm pregnant." The words hang in the air, fill the room. It's only the second time she's spoken them aloud.

Art stares at her for a moment. "You're pregnant?"

Winona nods wordlessly.

"Raylan knows?"

Again, she nods.

"Well, that explains Glynco." Art says. He pauses. "Congratulations?"

"Thank you." She ignores the slight questioning and smiles at the pleasantry. The softening she senses in his words gives her hope. "Art, please help him. Don't let him die down there today."

Art sighs and walks behind the desk. "OK. Tell me again what's happened with Loretta."

Winona relays the story, including Raylan's suspicion that the girl was going after the Bennetts, maybe Mags in particular.

"What makes him so sure he knows where she's headed?" Art asks.

"He says it's what he would've done."

"Alright." Art says. "I suppose I could call Tom down there and see what I can find out."

"Thank you."

"You go on back to work. I'll let you know what we decide." Art picks up the phone and she's been dismissed.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She paces in her office, staring at the phone. Twice she picks it up to dial the Marshal office and twice she hangs up again. She checks her cell-phone to make sure Raylan hasn't called. No calls. Dammit.

She sinks into the chair, leaning back, rubbing her temples. She suddenly has a helluva headache. Automatically, she reaches for the bottle in the desk drawer. Then stops. Can she take these? Shit. How does she know what's safe for the baby or not? She'll need that book. What's it called? _What to Expect When You're Expecting_? She wonders if there's one just for her: _What to Expect When You're Expecting and the Father of Your Child Has a Death-Wish_? She almost laughs. Almost.

She glances at the cell phone again, wishing it would ring, wishing Raylan would call. But why would he? She chides herself. What made her snap at him that she might not be here when he got back? And why did the hurt in his eyes surprise her? After all, she'd left him once before.

The phone rings and she fumbles to answer.

"We're headed down to Harlan." Art tells her. "He's probably fine, but we'll be there for back up if he needs it."

Relief floods her body. "Thank you."

"Someone will call. I 'spect it'll be Raylan. You sit tight. Try not to worry."

She gives a snort and feels the pause at the other end, as Art considers something. "You need anything, you call Faylene. She'll be home all day." He rattles off a number and Winona writes it down, thanks him again, and hangs up.

She glances at the calendar. Nothing on her schedule until a deposition at 2:00. The one day she wants, no _needs_ to be busy and there isn't a goddamn thing to do for the next three hours. Her stomach growls, reminding her that it's almost lunchtime, and she didn't have breakfast. Crap. She's not even eight weeks along and she's already a lousy mother.

Grabbing her purse, she heads out of the office.

At the last minute, she pauses in the doorway to the breakroom . Gwyn, the judge's secretary is pouring a cup of coffee.

"I'm going to take an early lunch." Winona says. "You want to come?"

"Sure," Gwyn says, smiling. "I'll get my purse and tell the judge."

Ordinarily, Gwyn wouldn't be her first choice of a lunch companion, but the woman's constant prattle about her two high school sons and their athletic exploits might take her mind off Raylan and Harlan for an hour at least.

The two women slide into a booth at the deli. Completely famished, Winona makes the mistake of biting into her sandwich first, giving Gwyn the opportunity she's obviously been waiting for.

"So, we been seein' that handsome ex-husband of yours more and more lately. You two back on again? I wouldn't blame you. Wouldn't kick him out of bed for eatin' crackers." Gwyn gives her a wink.

Winona swallows and sighs. This is why she doesn't have girlfriends. She's much more comfortable with men and their total ignorance of gossip and innuendo.

"We'll see how it goes." Winona says noncommittally. Part of her suddenly longs to tell this motherly woman everything and get another perspective on what she should do, but she squelches the idea.

"Well, you just light up when he comes around." Gwyn says. "That says something. I hope it works out."

"Me, too." She admits. "Me, too."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Back in her office, she tries to stay distracted with filing and other busy work, but her mind keeps drifting to Harlan. She places one hand on her still-flat belly and tries to imagine a baby. Her baby. Raylan's baby. It's what she wanted; what she hoped for when she tossed her pills in the motel room trash that night. But now that it's reality, she's terrified.

It's easy to blame that fear on Raylan, on his job, on the dark streak of anger a mile wide and twice as deep running through him like the black seam of coal cut through the hills above Harlan. But it's not all his fault. She chose him, not once, but twice. She could have had babies with Gary. He'd certainly wanted them, but she had put him off. Yet once back with Raylan, she'd felt a desperation that was hard to describe, a need to seal the love between them, to make something from it so that it could never be denied, never be lost.

"Well," she thinks to herself, "Be careful what you wish for."

Glancing at the clock she sees that it's almost 2. She gathers her things and heads to the conference room. Turning back, she violates policy, putting her cell on vibrate and shoving it into her pocket.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When the phone finally buzzes hours later it startles her out of daydreaming at her desk. Heart racing, she pulls it from her pocket.

"Hello?"

"Winona? It's Art."

The sandwich she ate for lunch suddenly lurches in her stomach. "What happened? Where's Raylan? Is he…."

"He'll be fine. He took a bullet…"

"What?" She is out of the chair and grabbing for her jacket before realizing she has no car to get to where she needs to be. With Raylan. Shit.

"Winona?" Art's voice is soft and firm, as if he's talking someone down in a standoff. "Rachel will be outside the courthouse in…" he speaks to someone else in a whisper, "Ten minutes. She'll bring you here. He's gonna be fine."

"Okay." Winona says. "Okay. I'm on my way down. Tell her to hurry."

"You got it."

"Wait!" She says, hoping he hasn't hung up.

"What?"

"Art, tell him I'm coming, okay? Tell him I'm on my way."

"Will do. He'll be glad to hear it."


	2. Art

_I love Art. After Raylan (obviously) and Boyd, he's probably my favorite character. In an interview, the actor said he'd like the show to give us more about Art's private life. I hope they do and I've tried to put a slice of that in this piece. _

_Reviews are candy. I like candy._

He shrugs on his jacket, preparing to head out. He needs to connect with a detective in the robbery division at Lexington PD and if he remembers correctly there's a bakery on the way with great coffee and better doughnuts. Faylene is back on Weight Watchers and the bran cereal with skim milk he had an hour ago just ain't cuttin' it.

"Art?"

He looks up. "Winona."

"Can we talk?"

"Now Winona, you know how fond I am of you, but if this is about Glenco…."

"No, no…." She insists, shaking her head.

Art listens as she explains what Raylan's gotten himself into this time. He feels for her. Really he does. He's watched as she and Raylan have danced around each other for the last year. They've obviously connected again and either she or Raylan thinks going back to Glenco will solve all their problems. Art's skeptical about that. Travelling backwards is never a good idea in his book. And Raylan, well, he doesn't seem capable of change. Lord knows, Art's tried.

He shakes his head at her. "Sometimes you just can't help."

"I'm pregnant."

The words don't register at first, and Art stares at her for a moment. "You're pregnant?"

She nods, looking small, and Art recalls the young, hopeful girl he met so long ago in Georgia; bright and full of life. He's seen a harder woman the past year, one who's done things he can't abide; but that girl is still there, and she's scared.

"Raylan know?"

Again, she nods.

"Well, that explains Glenco." Art says. He pauses. "Congratulations?"

"Thank you." She pauses, blinking away tears. "Art, please help him. Don't let him die down there today."

Crap. Art realizes he's in this up to his neck, whether he wants to go after that goddamn cowboy or not; he isn't about to be the reason this child grows up without a father.

"OK," he sighs, "Tell me again about what's happened with Loretta."

Winona relays the story once more. Art tells her he'll give Tom a call down in Harlan and see what he can find out. She thanks him and leaves as he picks up the phone.

* * *

><p>"Tom," Art says when the trooper picks up. "Art Mullin up at the Marshals' office. Listen, Raylan Givens is down your way lookin' for that McCready girl. Evidently she's ditched her foster family. She's got a gun and he thinks she's headed out to the Bennett place."<p>

"Interesting." Tom says. "We've had an explosion out at Johnny Crowder's. No word on casualties, but it seems like things may be back on between the Crowders and the Bennetts, and we both know Arlo Givens is in league with Boyd Crowder."

"Yup. And we know Dickie Bennett's the one who shot Helen Givens." Art mulls this over for a moment. "What would you think of us coming down, just to be sure this thing doesn't escalate?"

"I got no problem with that, Art. I'll keep a look out for Deputy Givens."

"Thanks, Tom." Art hangs up the phone and calls out "Tim! Rachel! Get your gear. We're goin' down to Harlan."

He picks up the phone to let Winona know, as he promised; but at the last minute dials home instead. If things go badly, and considering the parties involved they could, he acknowledges grimly to himself, Winona will need someone.

"Hey Hon," he says when Faylene picks up. "You gonna be home today?"

"I been for my walk and with the kids here this weekend there's a ton of laundry I didn't do, so yeah, I'll be here. Why? "

Art explains.

"You tell her to call me she needs anything at all." Faylene says firmly. "And Art; you find Raylan and make up. I'm tired of you skulking around the house like you lost your last friend. Whatever he's done either make something of it or don't, but either way, get over it."

"Yes, Dear," Art says, a smile in his voice. It's been their code for 'I know you're right.' going on thirty years now.

"Love you," Faylene says.

"Love you, too. And Fay…."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." He hangs up the phone and calls Winona to let her know they're heading out.

* * *

><p>Art turns down the all too familiar road that leads to Harlan. Faylene <em>is <em>right. This thing with Raylan and the money has been eating away at him, and obviously at Raylan, too. Art needs to either shit or get off the pot as his old man used to say.

"Well, fuck me." Art says out loud to no one. He'd made his decision when he cut Raylan off, short of confessing, explaining, or justifying whatever he'd done. Art guesses he'll just have to live with that.

Just outside of Harlan proper, Art's radio crackles to life. "Yeah." He answers.

"We're here on the ridge just past the Bennett place," Tim says. "Between us and the state folks, we got it pretty much surrounded."

"Good. I'm five minutes out. Any sign of Raylan?"

"Nope. Not yet. But the girl's here."

"He'll be there then. Keep an eye out."

"Always."

Art steps on the gas.

Pulling quietly into the clearing below the ridge, Art slows the car and parks in some brush. He glances up the hill. Crap. His knees will make him pay for this climb tomorrow, if not sooner. He shrugs on his jacket, grabs the horn and heads up to meet Tim and the others.

Rachel motions to him from a cluster of trees and he bends down to her line of sight.

"Raylan just got here. Looks like that's Dickie Bennett with him."

He takes the binoculars from her and checks it out. "Yeah, that's the sonofabitch." As Art watches, Doyle heads out to meet the car. The rednecks on the porch look trigger-happy and Art hopes nothing happens to set them off.

Tim is in sniper mode, totally still and focused, so Art scans the perimeter and finds his own spot to watch and wait. Just as he drops to one knee, a shot rings out from inside the house, followed instantly by a volley of shots from those idiots lining the porch.

Art looks up to see Raylan fall. Doyle Bennett approaches, gun pointed at Raylan on the ground, and Tim fires; dropping him like a stone.

"Go! Go, go!" Art shouts and the marshals advance to take control of the scene. His heart beating wildly, Art scuttles down the ridge, relieved beyond measure to see Raylan struggle to his feet, leaning against the car.

"Drop your weapons and get on the ground!" Art shouts at the stunned rednecks on the porch. "Drop your weapons or you WILL be shot. Assume the position!"

As he advances, the idiots continue to stare at Doyle's lifeless body and Art loses patience. "You dumbass peckerwoods understand English? On the ground, hillbillies!"

Art approaches Raylan, who's staring at him like he sees a ghost or the Good Lord Jesus.

"You all right, Raylan?"

"Been better." His eyes meet Art's. "It's good to see ya, Art." He turns away, walking gingerly toward the house. "Got at least two inside, one bein' Loretta McCready."

Art sees the blood. He knows Raylan's taken a bullet. He also knows it's useless to try to stop him. "Tim, Rachel, go with him. Clear the house." Art barks.

* * *

><p>Art helps the marshals and the staties round up the idiots and get them into various cruisers. "Better get the EMTs out here." he tells Tom. "Looks like Raylan caught one. Couldn't tell how bad, but he was walkin'."<p>

Tom grabs his radio and relays the message. "On their way," He tells Art. "Along with the coroner." He motions at Doyle's body. "Raylan got lucky. Your sniper took him out just in time."

"Yep." Art says. He glances toward the house. Raylan's been in there awhile and he considers going in to check when Rachel and Tim appear in the doorway, Loretta McCready between them.

"Where's Raylan?" Art asks. Rachel helps Loretta into the back of the only unoccupied cruiser, talking quietly to the girl.

"Raylan's in there with Mrs. Bennett." Tim says. "He talked the girl down."

"It was pretty amazing to watch." Rachel says.

Art waits, expecting to see Raylan in the doorway with the Bennett matriarch any moment. Nothing. Art walks over to the cruiser and leans in. "You all right?" He asks Loretta.

"Yessir." The child stares straight ahead, tears already dry on her face.

Straightening up, he faces Rachel. "She shot Mrs. Bennett?"

"In the leg," Rachel nods. "Flesh wound, but she did discharge a firearm. Not sure we can keep charges from being filed. Still, she ought to get off with some kind of probation."

"Will the foster family take her back?"

"Who knows?" Rachel shrugs. "Tom's calling them now."

"Hate to see her go to juvie, or some group home." Art says, shaking his head. "Where the heck is Raylan? What the hell is he doing in there anyway?" Art barks to no one in particular.

"Art?" Tim says, pointing to the porch.

Raylan staggers out, leaning for a moment on the railing. Then he sits, hard, on the top step, hand on his side. Art moves faster than he thought he could, leaning over his wounded Marshal.

"You sit. Ambulance is on its way."

"I'll be fine." Raylan grimaces. "Feels like a through and through."

"Shot is shot, dammitt." Art says, easing down to sit beside him. "Where's Mrs. Bennett?"

"Dead." Raylan says.

"Dead?" Art says. "I know my hearin's bad, Raylan, but I didn't hear a shot."

"Poison. Just like she did to Loretta's daddy."

"Poison? How in the hell…."

"Apple pie." Raylan is breathing heavier, and his voice is low. Art wonders if he's in shock.

"Start over, Raylan. You ain't makin' sense."

Raylan takes a deep breath. He's obviously in some pain. "Moonshine. She offered me a drink. Figured it was the least I could do to sit with her for a bit after I told her 'bout Doyle. Turns out, she put poison in her own glass."

Art shakes his head. "You think it was smart to sit down and have a drink with her? She coulda poisoned _you, _too!" He's angry now. "You take too many damn risks and you got more to think about than yourself now."

Raylan raises his head and stares at Art. "And why's that?"

Art wonders for a moment if Winona lied about Raylan knowing, but then the deputy raises an eyebrow and gives Art a weak grin. "You talked to Winona."

"She came to see me." Art says.

"I wondered how you knew where to find me. Not that I wasn't happy to see you."

"Winona told me 'bout you takin' off after Loretta."

"Seems like she told you more than that."

"Hell, Raylan you got her worried half sick." Art stops, softens his tone. "You know, it's been the best thing in my life."

"What?"

"The kids. Faylene. Best part of my life." Art says. "This…" he waves his arm to take in the cruisers and the coroner's van that's just arrived. "This is a job, Raylan. It pays the bills. On the good days it gives some satisfaction, sure; and on the bad days, well, that's what the bottle in the drawer is for."

The ambulance pulls through the gate and Art waves the EMTs over.

"Family, Raylan. People who love you. That's what's important." He pats Raylan's shoulder. "I'll call Glenco tomorrow. See what I can do."

Art watches the medics treat Raylan, strapping him onto the stretcher and loading him into the ambulance. The lack of protest on his deputy's part lets Art know just how bad Raylan must be feeling. Art makes a couple of calls on his cell, then shouts out just as the EMT is about to shut the door.

"Just a sec," Art says. "Can I talk to him a minute?"

"Just for a minute." the young man says. "We just gave him some pretty strong pain meds and we really need to get him to the hospital."

Art steps in and leans close. "I called Winona and she wants you to know she's on her way."

"Thanks, Art."

"Don't mention it." Art says. He steps down and the medic closes the door. The ambulance pulls away, sirens wailing, and Art watches it until it disappears.


	3. Ava

Shit. Shit . Shit. Damn Boyd, anyway. Ava hates this cellar. It smells like dirt and dead things and reminds her of the time Bowman locked her down here and left her. He threatened to make her stay down here overnight but the stupid bastard didn't know how to cook anything and was too lazy to drive himself into Harlan to eat, so he finally let her out.

She paces from one end of the dirt-floored room to the other. It's dark in the middle of the day. Narrow dirty windows, high on one wall, only let in bits of slanted sunlight, which picks up the dust stirred up by her pacing, giving the place a surreal, misty look, like something out of a dream. More like a nightmare, Ava decides.

Boyd is paranoid and overprotective. She can take care of herself. She has a gun and she knows how to use it. Everyone in Harlan knows that by now. Ava climbs the stairs into the kitchen and shuts the door. She glances out the window. Nothing.

She picks up the shotgun leaning against the wall and walks into the living room. Devil, startled from his post by the window turns and aims. Ava holds up a hand.

"What you doin' up here Ava?"

"I'm not stayin' down in that cellar."

"Boyd said…"

"I don't care what Boyd said. It smells like moldy death down there. You watch the front, I'll keep an eye out back. Make some coffee while I'm at it. Fresh, hot coffee, Devil?"

"Okay, sure."

Ava makes the coffee and gets two cups out of the cupboard, glancing out the window once or twice. Nothing. Boyd was certain the Bennetts had something planned, and she has to admit he's usually right about these things. Still, when she glances at the clock she relaxes a little. The parlay with Mags and Doyle should be over soon, and Boyd will be back.

She reaches into the fridge for the milk. "Cream and sugar?" She yells in to Devil.

She hears a noise and looks up just in time to see three Bennett thugs raise their guns at the window. She grabs for the rifle, but a shower of bullets shatters the window and she drops to the floor.

Devil appears in the doorway. "You stay down now!" He yells.

Ava curls into a ball on the floor, the rifle clutched in her hands. The bullets have stopped flying in the kitchen but volley after volley of shots sound from the front of the house. What if Devil needs help? She gets to her feet, raising the shotgun, and gasps.

Shit. Boyd was right after all. She should have stayed in the basement. That's her last thought before Dickie Bennett fires. She opens her mouth to speak but there's a loud bang and her chest seems to explode.

She hears Dickie turn and run. She lays there, for what seems like hours until the gunfire stops and footsteps approach.

"Oh my Sweet Jesus." Devil moans.

Ava can't answer. She steels herself against the pain and takes a ragged breath.

Devil carries her to the couch, pressing a towel to her chest and saying over and over, "Don't die, Ava; don't die."

Every breath hurts like a bitch and rattles in her chest.

"Boyd's gonna kill me." Devil mutters. "I shoulda tied you up and thrown you back in the cellar."

"Shut up." Ava croaks. He makes her head hurt. It's hard to breathe and her eyelids are so heavy, but she's afraid to close her eyes. It hurts. God it hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts.

She must have passed out because the next thing she hears is Boyd shouting "Where's Ava?" Then he's kneeling beside the couch and all she can say is "I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you stay in the cellar?" Boyd murmurs.

"I didn't want to stay down there."

Boyd turns on Devil. "Why didn't you make her stay in the cellar?"

"I told her…." Before Devil can finish, Boyd has him pinned to the wall, gun in his face.

"You shoulda made her stay there!" He shoves the gun closer and Devil flinches. "Who did this?" Boyd demands.

"D..D..Dickie Bennett." Devil stammers.

"You see him?"

"That's what she said."

Ava hears Arlo say something to Boyd, so low she can't make out the words.

"Go. Find a doctor. Get him here. Don't care how you do it."

Boyd pulls out his cell phone and punches in a number. "Find me Dickie Bennett." He barks.

He sits on the floor by the couch and takes her hand. "Gonna have to move you, Ava. When the doc gets here, the couch ain't gonna work. I'm gonna clean off the table and move you in there."

Ava nods. It's taking all her energy to fight the pain and the urge to just float away on this growing feeling of weightlessness . She can tell the towel is soaked again. She wonders how much blood a person can lose before they pass out. Raylan would know. She snorts because what is she doing thinking of Raylan right now? Then Boyd is there, gentle as can be, but it still hurts like a bitch when he lifts her, and she cries out.

"I'm sorry." He whispers soft, holding her close and moving slowly, trying not to jar her anymore than necessary. "I'm sorry, Ava. I know it hurts baby. I know."

She knows he does. She was there when he took a bullet from Raylan's gun not so long ago. Raylan could have killed him then, but he didn't. When she'd asked him about it later all he'd said by way of explanation was "We dug coal together." Two men she's loved. Loves? Two sides of the same coin. Light and dark, good and evil? Boyd isn't evil, really; it's not that simple with him. And Raylan, well, he ain't lily white, that's for sure.

Boyd lays her on the table. It's covered with something she hopes isn't her grandmama's double wedding ring quilt that hangs on the sidebar. She doesn't turn her head to look. Boyd takes the soaked towel, replacing it with another and pressing hard enough to make her flinch.

"Sonofabitch, Boyd!"

"I'm sorry Baby, but I have to keep pressure on. " He brushes the hair from her face and kisses her forehead. "Arlo'll be back with a doc soon." He says. "And if not, we'll call an ambulance and damn the consquences."

"You'll go to jail."

"Maybe."

Loud footsteps sound on the porch and Boyd puts a finger to his lips. "Shhh. I'll be right back."

Boyd returns moments later with man who can't possibly be a doctor. He's young and earnest, and very, very nervous.

"You're going to have to help me." He says to Boyd. "I can't do everything by myself."

"Just tell me what to do." Boyd nods.

"We're going to take care of you, Miss…? He looks at Boyd.

Boyd answers before she can. "You don't need to know her name. Just fix her."

The doctor takes a bottle and cloth from the bag. "This isn't going to be pleasant, but you don't want to be awake for this." He pours some liquid onto the cloth and hands it to Boyd. "Hold this over her mouth and nose and count to thirty."

Boyd's eyes are the last thing she sees as she slips into oblivion.


	4. Winona 2

"Raylan," Winona says, for the third time; drawing it out slowly for the sullen nurse manning the desk. She tries spelling it out: "R-a-y-l-a-n Givens. He's a U.S. Marshal and he's been shot. They brought him HERE!" She smacks her hand on the counter. Goddamn it. She blinks back tears. She will _not_ cry. Not here. Not in front of this incompetent woman and a waiting room full of people all staring at her.

"Blevins?" the nurse drawls. "I don't have any Blevins here."

"It's Givens, with a 'G'." Winona says through clenched teeth. She taps her nails impatiently as the woman runs her finger down the admissions sheet again. Winona barely resists the urge to grab the chart from the woman's hand and slap her with it. She feels like she's going to jump right out of her skin.

"Winona!"

She looks up. "Art! Thank God! They won't tell me anything! Where is he?"

"Come on, this way." He hurries her down a narrow hall. "He won't let 'em take him up to surgery till he sees you."

"How is he?"

"He's gonna be okay. He got caught in some crossfire out at the Bennett place. It looks like a through-and-through, but they want to go in and take a look to make sure."

"What about the girl?" Winona asks. If anything happened to Loretta, Raylan would be devastated and all of this would be for nothing.

"She's fine. Raylan talked her down. From what Tim and Rachel tell me, he was real good with her. Said exactly the right thing." Art gives her a telling look. "I don't always approve of Raylan's actions, but I can't fault his motivations."

A door flies open at the end of the hall and a tall, bearded man in a lab coat strides toward them. "I sure as hell hope you're Winona."

Winona nods.

"I'm Dr. Haijar. We really need to get your husband into surgery, but he's refusing treatment until he sees you."

Winona doesn't correct him on the husband part. Neither does Art, she notes.

"He's a stubborn man." The doctor shakes his head.

"Figured that out in the first five minutes, I bet." Art chuckles.

The doctor doesn't disagree.

"Can I go in?" Winona asks.

"Please." The doctor says, holding the door for her.

Raylan lies on a gurney in the center of the room, pale and still. His eyes are closed; his jaw clenched, in pain or stubbornness, it's a hard call. A young nurse, her dark hair plaited in neat cornrows, is adjusting the I.V.

"Raylan?"

He opens his eyes, and his whole face relaxes in relief. "Winona."

"I'll leave you two alone." The nurse gives them a smile, and quietly leaves, closing the door behind her.

Winona hesitates for a minute then crosses the room quickly and takes his hand in hers.

"I guess you had a point about goin' down to Harlan." His thumb makes circles in the palm of her hand. "Might not have been such a good idea after all." He cocks an eyebrow.

Winona leans in and kisses his forehead, resisting the urge to agree with him or say 'I told you so. "From what Art tells me, there's a girl out there who might disagree. He's awfully proud of what you did today."

"He tell you that?" Raylan looks skeptical.

"He didn't have to."

His eyes search hers, the way they always do when he's trying to figure out what she's thinking. It's unnerving, being studied like that.

"I didn't know whether you would be here." He says after a moment. "The way you left it…."

"What am I supposed to do, Raylan?" She hates hearing the strident tone in her voice, but she's unable to soften it.

"What does that mean?"

She sighs and drops his hand, crossing her arms in front of her, closing herself off from him. "I know who you are. I saw it again today. Today, Raylan, of all days." She swallows hard to keep from crying. "We're going to have a _baby_! And you go running off to do the 'right' thing after I beg you not to." She takes a deep breath and lowers her voice. "I'm happy you're safe, I'm proud of you, and I want to strangle you all at the same time."

"You're proud of me?" Again with the eyebrow.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, yeah, after our conversation this morning, it kinda is."

She sighs. "Raylan, I've always been proud of you…of what you do…of all you put into it. But more than that it scares me to pieces because I love you." The tears she's been keeping at bay spill over.

"Aww, don't cry." He reaches out and takes her hand, pulling her closer to the gurney. "I'm gonna be fine."

"This time." Winona murmurs.

But what about the next time, she thinks, and the time after that?' Part of her wants to pack her bags and run as far away from Kentucky and Raylan Givens as she can get. Not that it worked out so well the last time she tried that. And now, there's a baby. A baby she wants to raise with this man more than anything in the world. She's teetering on the edge of a cliff, and it's a long way down.

The door opens and the doctor comes in. "Mr. Givens, we really need to get you to surgery now."

Raylan's eyes meet hers.

"I'm not going anywhere." She answers his unasked question. "I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

"Love you." He says.

"Love you back." She kisses him again, this time on the lips, and slips out the door.


	5. Winona 3

Winona struggles awake, stiff from sleeping in the chair. Someone, probably the night nurse, covered her with a blanket. They'd suggested she leave, that he likely wouldn't wake until morning at the earliest, but she'd refused. The thought of going back to the motel alone had made her jittery, Art's offer to stay with him and Faylene, while sweet, hadn't appealed to her either, and the house was just...creepy. She needed to be here. She didn't want to take the chance that Raylan would wake up alone, or that she would give into the ever-present urge to run away.

Tossing the blanket off, she stands in bare feet and looks around for her shoes. As she bends to retrieve them her stomach lurches and she barely makes it into the tiny bathroom before retching. She stands shakily and looks at herself in the mirror. She cups some water in her hands, swishes and spits into the sink.

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

Winona splashes more water on her face before answering. "I'm fine."

A small blonde nurse in bright pink scrubs is adjusting the I.V. and taking Raylan's pulse when she comes out of the bathroom. She smiles at Winona. "He's doing well. The doctor should be in soon, I just saw him down the hall. You need anything?"

"No." Winona shakes her head. "Thank you." As soon as he wakes up, she'll go get something to eat and a shower. The shower sounds wonderful, the food, not so much.

"Just buzz if you change your mind or he wakes up. I'm Amy."

Winona thanks her again and walks to the window. The room is small, just one bed, a small stand, and the chair. She pulls back the shade and watches a hazy sun come up over Lexington.

"Good Morning!"

Winona turns from the window.

"I'm Dr. Hajjar. I think we met briefly last night." He holds out his hand.

"Yes. I'm Winona."

"Let's see how we're doing here." He picks up the chart from the rack on the wall and moves to the bedside.

"When will he wake up?" Winona asks.

"Soon, I would think." the doctor says, not looking up from the chart.

"No one's really told me much." Winona says. She had fallen asleep by the time they moved him from recovery, and Art, loathe to wake her up, had told her later what he could. She could use some information to stop the endless worry in her brain.

"The bullet nicked the liver and he lost some blood. We repaired that and gave him a transfusion." Dr. Hajjar lays the chart on the bed. "The beating's actually the worst of it."

"Beating? Someone beat him?" Art hadn't mentioned that.

"Yes, not just with fists, either. Some kind of weapon had to be used to do this much damage." He glances back at the chart. "He has one broken and three cracked ribs, a bruised kidney, and multiple contusions on his back and legs. The collarbone is cracked, too, so we'll need to keep that arm immobilized for a few days. There's a contusion on the back of his head, I'd say he was probably unconscious for a short time at some point." The doctor shakes his head. "I'm not sure how to explain the lacerations on his ankle. They seem to be rope burns."

The litany of injuries is stunning and Winona sinks unsteadily into the chair. "How long will he need to stay in the hospital?"

"A few days, at the least. That liver has to heal." The doctor says. "He should be awake, soon. I'll be back later today."

Winona thanks him and glances around for her purse. Finding it, she retreats to the bathroom to make what repairs she can to her frazzled appearance. Looking in the mirror though, she decides it's a lost cause. She sweeps her hair back into a low ponytail and secures it with a clip, splashes more water on her face and turns back into the room.

"Hey." Raylan says from the bed.

"Hey yourself."

"I feel like shit."

Winona smiles. "Yeah, well, you should."

"You stay here all night?" He asks. He's making an effort to keep his eyes open, but she can tell it's a losing battle.

"Yes."

He pats the side of the bed and she goes to him, carefully lowering the bar and perching on the very edge of the thin mattress.

He rests a hand on her leg and she covers it with her own. "Who beat you up, Raylan?"

"Dickie Bennett." He tells her the story, including his debt to Boyd for saving him from Dickie's full intent.

"Boyd is the one with the funny hair that was with Ava at the funeral, right?" Winona asks.

Raylan laughs. "Yeah, that's the one."

"Is he your friend?"

Raylan considers this for a moment. "Not really. Maybe. Right place at the right time's all." He squeezes her hand hard and she meets his eyes. "I'd be dead if it weren't for Art and Tim."

She stiffens, her eyes wide. "Go on."

He studies her, as if he's taking measure of how much she can handle.

"I need to know, Raylan. Tell me." Winona feels sick again, but resists the urge to run and hide in the bathroom. This is what she's asked for. She has to show him she can handle it.

He starts talking and the story unwinds until he's lying on the ground with Doyle Bennett poised above him with a gun pointed at his head.

"You know what I was thinking, right then?"

Not trusting her voice, she shakes her head.

"I was thinking that I was an idiot."

"You won't get an argument here." She says. He gives her half a smile, then sobers.

"I was thinking that I was never going to get to see this baby." He moves his hand from her leg to rest on her stomach. "And that you would hate me…."

"Raylan…."

"…with good reason. Then there's this 'crack' and Doyle's dead and Art's there and I'm thinking 'How the hell did Art know where I was?' "

Winona bows her head. "I didn't know what else to do."

"What you did saved my life."

She makes to protest, but thinks better of it. She needs a change of subject, and quickly. "What about Loretta? Art said you talked her down."

"After. She was in the house with Mags."

"You went in _after _you got shot?" Why this surprises her she has no idea, but it does.

"It's what I came to do."

Winona nods. "What will happen to her now?"

Raylan shrugs, then winces at the movement. "Hopefully the foster family will take her back. They seem like decent people."

His eyes close again and she leans in and kisses him. "I'm gonna go take a shower and get a bite to eat. I'll call Art. I'm sure he'll want to see you."

She slips on her shoes and reaches for her purse. He's already asleep but she says it anyway. "I'll be back soon."


	6. Art 2

Art pushes open the door and looks at the man lying in the bed. Raylan's eyes are closed, but the machine makes a reassuring steady beep and when the door squeaks his eyelids flutter.

"Hi, Art." His voice is a low croak, and the chief crosses to the bed, picking up the water glass and holding the straw for the younger man to drink.

"Thanks."

As he stands there studying his marshal, Art finds himself at a momentary loss for words. There's an awful lot he'd like to say, but some of it he said in Harlan, and the rest, well, he guesses it can wait. "How you feelin'?" He asks, finally.

"Beat up."

"Well, yeah, there's that." Art agrees.

"You hear anything about Loretta?"

Art nods. "Just talked to Rachel. The case-worker seems to think she'll likely get probation. She's meeting with the juvenile judge and prosecutor today. The foster family wants her back. They're willing to fight to keep her, in fact. Seems Dad has his own experience with making bad choices and believes in a second chance."

"Good." Raylan says. "I hope she gives them another chance, too."

"There's the matter of his unregistered gun, but Rachel says the social worker seems to think as short as the system is for good families, they may be willing to work with them. More frequent home visits, things like that."

"I hope so."

"I understand why you did what you did, Raylan." Art says. "But it was godawful stupid."

"Yeah. I've already been over that with Winona." He gazes out the window. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Well, it turned out okay, and I can't say I'm not glad you were there for the girl. Not sure anyone else could have gotten her out of there without more bloodshed."

Raylan is quiet for a moment. "Thanks."

"Listen, you've got some recovery time ahead of you and I got a phone call from District Office this morning. They want you to do some debriefing before you come back. It isn't a request."

"Debriefing?" Raylan sighs. "You mean counseling, don't you? Shit."

"Mandatory." Art nods. "You don't come back in any capacity until the psychologist they assign releases you." He's surprised this hasn't happened before now, truthfully, and he isn't at all sure it's a bad thing for Raylan.

"So I have to talk to someone about my _issues_?" Raylan scoffs. "That's all bullshit, Art, and you know it."

"Raylan, the things we do have consequences and those consequences sometimes weigh on us." Art eases down into the chair by the bed. "Maybe sorting some of it out isn't a bad idea."

"I'm not unaware of my motivations and I don't need to get in touch with my _feelings_." Raylan says. "You think I'm crazy, Art?"

"No." Art admits. "Not crazy but…"

"But what?"

"You've been through a lot lately. With what happened to Helen…"

"What happened to my Aunt Helen has nothing to do with how I do my job." Raylan insists.

Art isn't sure he agrees, but Raylan is agitated and the beeps on the machine are speeding up so he tries to diffuse things a bit. "It's not up to me." Art shakes his head. "Just do the sessions, give 'em what they want to hear, and it'll all be over."

The door opens and the nurse walks in. She checks the machines, takes Raylan's pulse and blood pressure and turns to Art. "He needs his rest." She says pointedly. "Let's wrap it up."


End file.
